


The Eye of Your Mind

by walmer92



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, PTSD, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walmer92/pseuds/walmer92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin chooses Brian over Ethan, and everything falls apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Eye of Your Mind

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the look on Justin's face the first time he slept with Ethan. He looked wrecked, and it confirmed for me the obvious: that more was going on than him needing a monogamous boyfriend. Although I wouldn't call his relationship with Ethan a good thing, I think that it acted as something of a release valve for him, and for Brian. This was what I thought would have been necessary for Justin to do, in his own head, if he'd decided to stay with Brian. That means that much of this story is dealing with the aftermath of a traumatic and violent event, and the ramifications of being in what was, at this point in the story, a fairly unhealthy relationship on both sides. So if either of these issues are triggers for you, I would suggest that this isn't the story for you. That being said, this story just describes another kind of release valve. I'm a sucker for a happy ending.

He doesn't know what happened. How he arrived at this place. He remembers when merely having the freedom to be in this room without the constant fear of being made to leave would have left him dizzy with happiness.   
  
But now, he's sitting on the floor, surrounded by the remnants of his attempt at romance. A ridiculous re-enactment, he now realizes, because this isn't what Brian does. That was what Ethan did, had done for him. But Ethan isn't Brian. Ethan is soft smooth words and chocolate brown eyes, and music that sounds almost like love.   
  
But in the end, nothing compares to the harsh beat that thrums through his veins when he sees Brian. Nothing can measure up to his 'not bad' and no eyes are as captivating as the hazel green eyes of his lover.   
  
His lover. The thought brings a laugh to his lips, but it is short and mirthless. Brian isn't his. Brian belongs to nobody. But he's let Justin in, into his house, and his bed, if not his heart. And even a small part of Brian is better than a cheap imitation.   
  
So Justin clears away the plates left on the floor. He showers and goes to bed, moving automatically through his nightly routine. It's only after he slips between the covers that he notices the time. It's already close to three. He hadn't realized how long he had sat there, lost in his thoughts.   
  
He wonders if Brian will be home on time. He has no reason to doubt it. It's only he, after all, who has broken their rules before now.   
  
But still he breathes a sigh of relief when the door slides open, and the clock blinks the numbers 2:59 at him in harsh neon colors. He listens to Brian shedding his clothes, and hears him come towards the bed. Feels him slip beneath the covers, and reach for him.   
  
He doesn't question how Brian knows he is awake. He always does. Brian fucks him hard and fast, and it seems to Justin that he holds him a little tighter than normal, as though he can't quite bear to let him go. But then he loses himself to the sensation, and by the time Brian slips out of him, he is sure that he imagined it.   
  
Brian moves away, and he has to bite back a whimper, because he can't let Brian know how much he needs him. That's not what Brian wants. But then he feels the damp of a wash cloth on his belly and thighs, and he sighs instead.   
  
Finally, he falls asleep held loosely against Brian's side, and he remembers how the first time, and so many times after that Brian would simply roll away. Thanks Brian in his mind for the concession.   
  
He falls asleep gently cradled in the arms of the man he loves, and knows he will give up anything, do anything, to feel this way for the rest of his life.   
  
  
  
Brian doesn't know when it happened. He isn't sure why, and has little idea of what. But something has changed in Justin. He gets up every morning and goes to school. Works at the diner. Works on Rage with Michael. Dances till almost three in the morning at Babylon.   
  
But now, his things no longer clutter up the loft. Rather than being glad to have his own space back, Brian is unaccountably irritated. And it seems like months since Justin had asked Brian to pose for him.   
  
Once, Brian had had to drag him out of bed every morning, and shove him into the shower. Now, he wakes every morning alone, his arms reaching into empty space. Justin greets him, already fully dressed, with coffee and a kiss before sliding out of the door.   
  
The first time this happened, Brian had been pleased, glad to skip what had become a regular chore. The second and third he had been suspicious. The seventh time he had become worried.   
  
But worst of all is his smile. Justin still smiles his Sunshine smile whenever Brian enters the room. But otherwise, Brian never sees it. Sitting and sketching, working in the diner - Justin no longer flirts with the customers, and he no longer smiles.   
  
Debbie has of course noticed as well. When questioned, Justin produces a stretching of his lips, a pale imitation of what his smile once was. Brian can hardly bear to look at the cold dead eyes above Justin's smiling mouth.   
  
Although Justin still tricks, more now it seems, since the - whatever - began, the only time he feels Justin is really alive is when he holds him in his arms. The rest of the time, he feels as though he is watching a simulacrum live Justin's life.   
  
He is loath to admit it, but he misses his Sunshine.   
  
  
  
Justin is worried. He has been trying so hard to be exactly what Brian wants. Not to take over his space. Not to hurt when Brian took off with a trick, and didn't bother to say goodbye. To prove that he was worth Brian's time.   
  
But still, Brian seems edgy, unhappy. He has to try harder, has to be better. He cannot live without Brian. He glances at the clock, and sees that it's nearly time for Brian to get home.   
  
He gives the loft a quick once over, to ensure that nothing is out of place. He grabs his sketch book, and curls up as small as possible on the couch.   
  
  
  
Brian walks into the loft, hoping that today will be the day that he will walk in to find loud music playing, and art supplies scattered everywhere. He shakes his head, disconcerted by his own thoughts.   
  
He has always hated the fact that being with someone, even in the broadest sense of the word, means giving up his own space. Now that he has the one thing he thought he was missing, he wishes he could give it back.   
  
As he expects, there is no clutter, no mess, no noise. But Justin is there, sitting on the couch, sketching. Brian wonders how long he has been drawing, hopes his hand is holding up. When Justin hears him enter, he looks up, and his face lights up with a real smile.   
  
It's so brilliant Brian almost has to look away. But then Justin looks down at his work, and it's as though all the light has left the room. Strolling towards him, Brian looks over his shoulder, and smirks when he sees the subject matter.   
  
"Not bad," he says, and is pleased to see a blush creep over the boy's cheeks at the praise. "Of course with such a fabulous model," he drawls, "what could go wrong?" "Shut up," says Justin, and draws him down into a kiss.   
  
Brian is surprised for a moment, but then kisses him back, happy to see part of his old Sunshine once again. But then Justin pulls away a second later, an anxious expression on his face.   
  
Brian smiles reassuringly at him, then leans back into the kiss. He hopes he's doing the right thing, unsure how to react to Justin's sudden shyness. When Justin begins to kiss down his neck, all thoughts leave his head. He will figure it out later.   
  
Brian wakes later that night, still groggy from sleep. He had meant to go out to Babylon, but he and Justin hadn't made it further than the bed.

When he had mentioned this to Justin afterwards, the boy had looked thoroughly guilty, until Brian assured him that he had enjoyed himself plenty where he was. At that the kid had snuggled against his side and fallen asleep. Unusually glad to feel the warmth of his lover against his side, he too had drifted into a sated slumber.

For a moment he is unsure as too why he is awake, used to sleeping through till the alarm. Then he hears it. A small snuffling noise is coming from the lump on the other side of the bed.

Justin.

Shifting slowly towards him, Brian listens intently, trying to make out what Justin is saying.

"No, no, no, no, no."

"Justin."

At the touch of Brian's hand, Justin breaks into audible sobs. He chokes out, "I'm sorry," at the same time, as often as he is able. Brian reaches out to gather Justin into his arms, as he usually does when Justin has a nightmare. For a moment, the boy resists.

But Brian whispers, "Shh, it's ok," and cradles the boy to his chest. The tears eventually run out, but Justin continues to mumble apologies into Brian's chest.

"Justin, look at me." Justin peers up from underneath wet lashes, lips firmly clamped together. "You've got nothing to be sorry for, understand?" Justin nods, although he still looks guilty. "What was the nightmare about?"

"Nothing."

"Justin." Brian's voice carries a warning note, and as he speaks the body beside him tenses.

"I - y, you - you were gone!" Justin bursts out.

"Well, I'm here now, ok? I'm right here. Now go back to sleep. And be here in the morning - I miss our shower time." Brian gives his tongue in cheek smirk, expecting an answering grin from Justin.

Instead, he hears a small "I'm sorry, Brian," and then nothing but the sound of Justin's breathing as he falls asleep. He stays awake for hours, trying to decide what Justin is sorry for.

When he wakes up the next morning, he finds the bed empty. But he can hear Justin in the shower.

<<*>>

Justin is furious with himself. Brian has tried to hard to make him better, to fix him, and he isn't helping. Can't even let him get a full night's sleep. He feels so stupid, so helpless. Can he do nothing right?

Just then, the phone rings, and he scrambles to pick it up. "Justin? Hi, it's Cynthia. I'm Brian's assistant." Justin starts to panic.

"Is-is Brian ok?" He doesn't understand who asked that question. He doesn't recognize the voice. He's sure it isn't his.

"What? Oh, sorry. No, His Royal Highness is fine. He just asked me, _ever_ so politely to call and let you know he had to go out of town unexpectedly tonight. Justin gives a sigh of relief, but at the same time, feels his heart sinking.

"Ok, thanks."

"Oh, and Justin?" She calls him back.

"Yes?"

"He said to tell you he'd still make the curfew."

"Thanks," Justin says again, but this time there is a smile in his voice. As he puts down the phone, he can't help the corners of his mouth twitching, until the smile spreads across his whole face. Then he realizes what he's doing.

"Stupid," he admonishes himself. "Stupid. Just because he'll be in the hotel room by three, doesn't mean he won't be out getting his dick sucked. Doesn't mean that he's missing you."

And for some reason, the second thought hurts far more than the idea that Brian is out tricking. "Which is what I should be doing," Justin tells himself. "Lying here feeling sorry for yourself isn't going to achieve anything."

Getting up, he showers and dresses in his favorite fuck me outfit, skintight jeans, and a pale blue top that moulds itself to his body. Pausing before the door, he takes a deep breath, allowing himself to push all the hurt he is feeling down into the recesses of his mind. He is going to go out and have fun. That after all, is what Brian would expect of him.

<<*>>

Brian has delivered his pitch, and his mind couldn't be further from the ridiculous problems his client is putting in front of him. If the account wasn't bringing in so much revenue, he would tell him to go fuck himself. Hell, he figures _Vance_ would tell him to go fuck himself.

No, his mind is on the delicious blond boy waiting at home for him. Or fucking his brains out at Babylon. Part of Brian hopes it is the latter, doesn't like the idea of Justin sitting alone in the loft.

But a very small part of him, that he is trying to ignore, likes the idea that Justin still wants only him. Hating hypocrisy, he despises this part of himself, but no matter what he does, it won't shut up. Doesn't really matter in the end, he figures. He sure as hell isn't going to do anything about it.

Just then his cell rings, shocking him out of his thoughts. He frowns as he recognizes the number. Justin. Justin knows better than to call him in a meeting unless something is very wrong. Looking up, he sees the others sitting around the table glaring at him.

"Sorry," he apologizes. "Family emergency." He quickly hits the answer button, leaving the room as he does so.

"This had better be good," he says into the cell. He is fond of the boy, he'll admit that much, but if he pulled him out of that meeting because he was lonely then.....ah, who was he kidding, his mind hadn't been on the pitch.

"Brian, where the fuck are you?"

"Mikey?" Brian frowns. What is Michael doing calling from Justin's cell phone?

"Brian, I'm worried about Justin. He's completely wasted. I've never seen him like this before."

"Like what?" Brian tenses. "Has he been taking candy from strangers?" "

No-oo." Michael sounds cautious. "But he's taken a couple of E from Em, and he's been knocking back Beam all night." Brian visibly relaxes. It doesn't sound as though Justin is about to OD.

"So what are you calling for? Boy's got a right to have some fun."

"But that's not all, Brian." Mikey sounds on the verge of panic. "He hasn't been himself all evening. He's barely opened his mouth since he walked in the door. He's insulted Ted. He's not even dancing, just pulling guys to the backroom in between shots. This isn't like him, Brian."

_'No,'_ Brian thinks. _'Not like him at all. He's acting like-'_

"Is that him?" Brian’s hears Emmett’s voice in the background. "Give me that. Now you listen up, asshole." Emmett’s voice becomes clear. "I don't know what you've done, but you get your skinny ass down here and fix it. Sunshine hasn't been himself for weeks, and now he's pulling a Brian Kinney Extraordinaire."

"As if anyone could replace me," Brian drawls, but his heart isn't in it. "Listen, I'm out of town for tonight. You two just make sure he gets safely home. He's fine. Let the kid play with the big boys if he wants to. And if you disturb me at work again, I'll rip your balls off and stuff them down your throat, ok?"

With that he snapped the cell phone shut. _'Shit,'_ he thinks. _'Shit, shit, shit.'_ No matter what he says, the last thing he wants it to turn Justin into a carbon copy of himself. He can think of few worse fates.

But there is fuck all he can do about it now, and he has a job to do. Squaring his shoulders, he takes a deep breath, and walks back into the meeting.

<<*>>

Justin lies on the couch, curled in on himself. His shoulders are heaving, his chest is tight with the effort not to cry, and his eyes are wet. But no sound is coming out of his lips. Inside, his heart is breaking.

Earlier that day he had woken up curled against a warm body. His head was pounding with the beginning of a spectacular hangover. For a moment his befuddled mind had thought "Brian," but then he had remembered where his lover was and his heart had sunk.

He had brought a trick home. How could he have been so stupid? His panicked mind had pumped adrenaline into his body, and his headache had alleviated enough for him to sit up.

He had never been so relieved to see Michael's face in his life. He hadn't allowed anyone to take Brian's place. Still he moved quickly away. He didn't want Brian to have any reason to get angry.

Michael had made him coffee, which Justin had taken gratefully, and left soon afterwards. But first he had told Justin how he used to do this for Brian. And how a small part of him had been grateful when Justin took over that responsibility. Justin had snorted, and then wished he hadn't when he felt the effects of the sharp movement on his head.

"I was surprised as well," Michael had told him, grinning wryly. "I'm more surprised to have to do the same for you." He had had a strange look on his face as he spoke, one of sympathy, and something Justin couldn't place.

He had shrunk from that look, and Michael had left. Justin had gone through his normal morning routine, disregarding his pounding head. He had moved lethargically and automatically.

He was surprised when he found himself fully dressed, sitting on the sofa. He had looked around at the bare empty loft, and something inside him broke. The feeling had radiated outwards from his chest to consume the rest of his body, a feeling of loneliness and heartbreak.

And now he lies on the couch, curled in on himself. His shoulders are heaving, his chest hurts from the effort not to cry, and his eyes are wet. But no sound is coming from his lips. Inside his heart is breaking.

<<*>>

Brian walks into the loft. He no longer bothers to hope for the mess and noise he once despised. Instead he finds what he expects to find. Justin curled up on the couch, an oasis of life in an otherwise sterile environment.

He's not sketching this time, but lying there, asleep. Brian looks at him, bathed in the low lamp light. He thinks that he has never seen anything more beautiful. Then he pushes the thought away. It's too dangerous, too - hetero.

He grimaces at the thought, but cannot resist reaching out to touch Justin's cheek. His hand comes away wet. The boy has been crying, recently. Brian sighs. He doesn't know what to do; the situation is out of his control. He hates this. Before Justin, he didn't allow things into his world that couldn't be controlled.

He leans down and kisses the boy deeply. He doesn't know what he's doing. He wants something that he can understand. The boy opens his eyes, and smiles at him, and for Brian, it is suddenly as though he is staring at the sun, holding the sun in his arms.

He guides him towards the bed. Justin follows him sleepily; only half aware of what is happening. Brian quickly strips him of his clothes, and pushes him onto the bed. He begins to take off his own clothes and soon his hard body is covering the pale one spread out beneath him.

He kisses him, and sighs into his mouth. He'll never tell him this, but he thinks that until the night he met Justin, he didn't know what kissing really was.

He remembers fucking a man at work the next day, a man who said he wouldn't kiss. He had laughed and kissed him anyway, but had been surprised at how detached it suddenly seemed; a mere movement of his mouth rather than an expression of even momentary passion. Somehow that fuck hadn't been as satisfying as usual.

He's still kissing Justin and the boy is wriggling underneath him. He smiles. This he can understand. He begins to move down the boy's body, touching him everywhere with his tongue, hands, lips, anywhere he can reach. He worships him, setting his body aflame everywhere he touches.

He carries on long past the point where Justin can move, long past the point where he can do more than lie there and beg Brian to fuck him. The small part of Brian that always remains detached during sex notes this with pleasure.

But then he reaches for the condom, and slips it on. When he slides inside Justin, that last rational part of him disappears, as it always does with Justin. As it only does with Justin, ever since the very first time. Something else he will never tell him. Instinctively he begins to move, and this is just as gentle and wonderful as what came before.

Brian doesn't fuck him, but moves slowly within him, passion building to a crescendo between their bodies. Brian's thrusts lengthen as he moves almost cautiously in and out, and Justin feels every inch within him.

The pleasure builds up inside him until he can stand it no longer, and he comes without a touch to his cock. His muscles clenching around Brian pull him over the brink moments later.

The last thought Justin has before he falls asleep is that he knows why the French call it the little death.

Brian wonders how he can still want Justin so much after all this time, and then decides that it doesn't matter. It is enough that he does.

  
When Brian wakes up, his immediate decision is to go back to sleep. It's Saturday after all, so for once he can afford to lie in.   
  
But first he reaches out for Justin. For some reason, he feels that after last night, there is no way that Justin will have left their bed. Last night Brian poured everything he felt into Justin's body. Surely, surely, that was enough to bring him back from the brink, to keep him in their bed.   
  
Justin isn't there. Brian groans and opens his eyes. Listens for the sound of the shower. There is nothing. He slowly pushes himself up, looks around the loft. Justin isn't there.   
  
He groans and falls back on the bed. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the hell is he supposed to do now?   
  
  
  
Justin walks into the loft, and slides the door shut. He makes his way into the bedroom without a single glance in Brian's direction.   
  
Brian watches him silently from where he sits at the computer. Finally he gets up, following Justin and sits on the bed as he watches him undress.   
  
"Where have you been?" he asks, careful to keep his voice neutral.   
  
"Around," Justin tells him as he strips off his sweater. "We going out tonight, or staying in?" Justin looks at him flirtatiously over his shoulder, his voice an open invitation. At any other time Brian would have taken him up on it without hesitation, but tonight, something feels off, wrong.   
  
"Let's go out," he says after a moment. He's not sure he can bear to stay here with Justin, or even worse, fuck him, and feel as if he isn't there. Justin doesn't look disappointed, just finishes undressing, and then moves to the closet grab some new clothes.   
  
When he's dressed in leather pants and a blue tank top, he looks as sexy as hell, but Brian feels as though he's looking at a statue or a painting. Just an image. But he doesn't say a word. Grabs his leather jacket and heads for the door.   
  
Justin disappears almost as soon as they get inside the club. Brian feels as though he should be surprised. Justin normally sticks to him like a bur. But he's not. He considers dragging a trick to the back room, but decides against it. After the emotion filled sex from last night, he doesn't feel the need for a clinical fuck.   
  
He laughs mirthlessly as he downs a shot. Apparently confusion makes his dick soft. It never used to. He catches sight of a blonde head, and centers in on Justin, dancing with a tall brunette in a mesh shirt. The expression on his face is still blanker than Brian would like, but he looks almost - alive.   
  
Jealousy flares up inside his chest at the thought that this stranger can do for Justin what he can't. For a moment he wonders if this is how Justin used to feel when he abandoned him in favor of someone else's dick, or ass, or mouth.   
  
For just a second he almost feels guilty, but then he pushes the thought away. He continues watching Justin, and before he realizes what he is doing, he has pushed away from the bar and is stalking towards Justin.   
  
He grabs him around the waist, tells the trick to fuck off. Pulls Justin against him, pulls him to the back room.   
  
Quick hurried movements, the burn as he pushes in. Justin is groaning, pushing back against him; he's warm, he's alive beneath Brian's fingers. As he thrusts he knows Justin is there with him, knows that he still wants him, and they explode together, screaming.   
  
Brian pulls out, and turns Justin toward him. The boy leans forward to kiss him, but already he's blank, gone. Brian wonders if he imagined what just happened, and only the condom still hanging off his limp dick convinces him that he didn't.   
  
  
  
It's been two weeks since Justin stopped. If before he seemed unlike himself, now he might as well be dead.   
  
Brian is non-plussed. He has tried ignoring him. Tried yelling at him. Tried hurting him, shoving tricks in front of his face, brushing him off at every turn. He has even tried talking to him. Nothing works.   
  
For a while he tries to stop fucking him, but he finds he can't. When he fucks him, he can pretend for a moment that when it is over, Justin will turn to him and the smile of his face will reach his eyes. Brian always fucks him from behind now; scared that something in Justin's face will break the illusion.   
  
Brian himself is changing. He's surprised at himself for not slipping back entirely into his old habits, now that he is free to do so. After all, he has no responsibility to Justin; it isn't his job to play nursemaid to the boy. But he finds he has been spoiled. Anonymous fucks aren't as satisfying when he isn't sure something better will be waiting at home.   
  
He used to despise the need Justin has to talk, or even worse, cuddle after sex. Now he feels strangely disappointed when Justin rolls away and seems to go to sleep. When he wakes up and his arms are empty.   
  
Mikey teases him about it one night, high enough on pot to dare to bring it up.   
  
"You're going soft," he teases. "You're practically a married man."   
  
"Fuck off," Brian says, but his heart isn't it.   
  
"Who would have thought, Brian Kinney, a one man man?"   
  
"I'm not a fucking one man man. I'm a fucking man. Just ask the back room at Babylon."   
  
"That wasn't what I meant," Michael tells him. "Although you haven't been at the bars and clubs so much recently. You've been spending all your time with Justin. You love him."   
  
"I haven't been spending all my time with Justin. I'm hardly spending any time with Justin," Brian says quietly. He doesn't know why he's telling Mikey this, he blames the pot, but he knows that if he doesn't do something soon, he's going to lose Justin (which he doesn't have a problem with) and Justin's going to lose himself.   
  
"But if you're not with each other then where are you?" Michael whines. "Don't you want to spend time with me Brian?"   
  
"I don't know where Justin is," Brian goes on. "I - I've been busy with work lately." He doesn't tell Michael that somehow he doesn't enjoy going out anymore. When Justin isn't there, he worries. When Justin is there, he's never with Brian, and Brian - worries.   
  
"How can you not know where he is?" Michael is incredulous. "You live together, don't you?" Brian smiles wryly.   
  
"Doesn't feel like it anymore. He's there when I go to sleep, but not when I wake up. I never know when he's going to be back. Jesus, I sound like his mother. But - what am I supposed to do, Mikey?" Brian hates asking for help. Wouldn't do it if it was for him. But the kid's been through enough in his life, and if Brian's gonna let go of his pride for anyone it might as well be him. Mikey is sitting in front of him with a solemn look on his face. Brian realizes he isn't gonna like what he hears.   
  
"I'm afraid you're just gonna have to face up to it and - talk to him." For a moment Michael looks shocked that he's even suggested that Brian talk to someone, but then his face dissolves into drug induced giggles at the idea. Brian isn't amused.   
  
"Tried that," he says tersely, and then tries not to think about what he had just admitted.   
  
"You tried talking to him?" Brian nods. "You, Brian Kinney, were prepared to have a real talk with him about real emotions, and he said no?" Brian frowns at the question, but nods his head again.   
  
"Jesus Christ." Michael is stunned. He doesn't understand how Justin could have turned down the one thing he seemed always to have wanted. The chance to finally see inside Brian.   
  
But then, Michael remembers, the kid always seemed to have an uncanny ability to know what Brian was really thinking, really saying. He had been the only one to ever get Brian to -   
  
"Brian," Michael said slowly. "How did Justin always get to you?"   
  
"He didn't," comes the stock reply. Brian isn't really listening, lost in his own thoughts.   
  
"Yeah, yeah," Michael replies, exasperated. He doesn't have time to cater to Brian's ego. "Brain, he's moved in with you. So, how did he get there?"   
  
"I don't know. Followed me around, acted like a little twat. What the fuck does it matter." Brian sounds annoyed, but a grin is spreading slowly across Michael's face.   
  
"That's it," he yells, and Brian is finally shocked back into the real world.   
  
"What," he snaps irritably. "What's 'it'. What are you talking about, Mikey?"   
  
"That's how you figure out what's wrong. Follow him around."   
  
"In dark glasses and a trench coat? I don't think so." Brian gets up, stretches like a cat. Michael remembers when he could get lost looking at Brian's body, could so easily do it now - but he has Ben now, and that's enough for him. More than enough.   
  
Brian's about to leave, kisses Mikey goodbye, but as he's at the door he glances back for a second. "Why are you doing this, Mikey?" he asks. "I never thought you liked the kid that much."   
  
"Well, he - he's not so bad," Michael stutters. "And I need him for the comic. Besides, if I let anything happen to him, Ma would have my balls."   
  
He grins at Brian, his best friend, and Brian smirks back.   
  
Message sent, message received. Brian nods in acknowledgment, and leaves.   
  
  
  
Brian’s sitting in his jeep. This isn't unusual in itself, but for once, Brian doesn't know where to go. He glances at the clock and automatically registers that Justin's class at PIFA will be letting out in 15 minutes.   
  
If he still goes to school.   
  
Brian doesn't ask what Justin does when he's not at the loft. Makes sure not to go into the diner when it's Justin's shift, because in the end, he doesn't really want to know whether or not he's there.   
  
But now could be a good time to find out. He could give Mikey's idea a try. But already, he's shaking his head. He may be worried, but he's still Brian Kinney, and Brian Kinney doesn't do stalking, doesn't do desperate. Doesn't go after people.   
  
So maybe he'll head over to Woodies or the baths, pick up a drink or a trick, or both. Mind made up, he pulls out of the parking space, and drives with every intention of taking the next turning.   
  
Only to find himself on the way to PIFA.   
  
After a moment he mentally shrugs. It won't kill him to pick Justin up from class. It's not as though he hasn't done it before. 15 minutes later he pulls up out side the school, and heads for the building where he knows Justin's class is.   
  
But just as he gets inside, he sees a flash of blond hair disappearing down a hallway. Knows somehow that it's Justin, although he doesn't want to think how. He follows.   
  
Justin is leaning against the wall, eyes wide with - anger, shock - lust? Brian can't tell. In front of him stands another kid with greasy black hair and a goatee. A violin leans against the wall.   
  
Brian wants to tell the kid to shave and get a haircut, anything to take him away from the reality of this situation. Because the kid is leaning over Justin, one hand braced against the wall, the other almost touching Justin's cheek. And he's speaking, saying words Brian knows he'll never be able to say.   
  
"He doesn't love you. I do." Then he's stroking Justin's cheek, and Brian feels something hard and painful well up inside him. And then the kid leans in to kiss him.   
  
Justin steps out of his classroom, and allows the blankness to slip over him again. He isn't sure how much time has passed since he found his way here, into this hollow in his head where he could block everything else out.   
  
He surfaces occasionally, vaguely remembers working in the diner, traveling on the bus. But the only times that he's really alive is when he's with Brian. When Brian is inside him, filling him up, so hard, so good.   
  
Those are the times when Justin believes that Brian really loves him. And then he can slip back into the blankness afterwards, before anything can happen to shatter his pretence. The rest of the time he's just blank. He likes it that way.   
  
Or at least that's the way it was at first. Until Ethan showed up. The first time was maybe 9 days ago, and the sight of him was enough to shock Justin back into the real world.   
  
Ethan had pulled him down an alley way, said he wanted to talk to him. Justin asked him why he thought being in a cold damp alley would help him with that.   
  
"You haven't been to see me - I thought maybe you couldn't, because of him."   
  
Him? Oh, Brian. Justin laughs at the idea, tells Ethan that Brian couldn't care less who he talks to - or does anything with.   
  
"But how can you live like that?" Ethan asks, appalled. "Don't you want someone who only wants to be with you?"   
  
Justin stops and considers. Yes he does, he thinks, and he nods his head. Ethan takes this as a sign of acquiescence, and leans in to kiss Justin.   
  
For just a second, Justin contemplates allowing it, because it would be so nice to feel loved. But it was only be a replacement, and that won't do.   
  
He dodges Ethan, and runs. Since then Ethan has turned up almost every day, somehow always managing to break through the fog in his mind. He pleads with him, telling him that he loves him, and Justin's resolve is breaking.   
  
He wants what Ethan wants to give him. He's thankful for the blankness he can slip into the rest of the time, because without it, he doesn't know how he would survive.   
  
Each time, he speaks politely to Ethan, and stops his attempts to kiss him. No one but Brian does that. Now though, he doesn't have to worry about that. The class he just had was interesting enough that he could lose himself in it, and he has a shift at the diner now.   
  
Then he can go home, go home to the loft and be with Brian. He feels the familiar blankness wash over him, and relaxes into it, wonders idly where he'll be when he wakes up.   
  
But then he's rudely pulled out of his trance by a hand tugging at his arm. By the time he's got his bearings he's against the wall, and Ethan's leaning over him.   
  
"Justin," he says, and his tone is reverent. For a moment, Justin allows himself to revel in that. But then he pushes the thought away. The imitation may be tempting, but it isn't what he wants.   
  
"I've missed you," Ethan is saying, and leans down to kiss him but Justin pushes him away as well.   
  
"Missed what?" he asks. "Me rejecting you? Because that's all that's going to happen. I don't want you, I want-"   
  
"Brian?" Ethan's voice is dry. "He's no good for you, Justin, he's hurting you." Justin shakes his head at that and it's true. Brian doesn't hurt him anymore. Justin doesn't let him.   
  
"Come on, Justin,” Ethan’s speaking again, and Justin listens. He wants to get this over this, slip back into oblivion. "He doesn't love you." As he speaks, he's caressing Justin's cheek, and there's a part of him that wants so much to give in. To be loved. "I do," Ethan says, and then he leans in to kiss him again.   
  
Brian's breath catches in his throat as he hears the boy speak. Knows that Justin will know it for truth, because after all, it's what Brian told him, and the boy isn't stupid. He learns his lessons well.   
  
And then something in his chest tightens when the boy tries to kiss him, because although he's seen Justin fuck other people, and that turns him on, it's been a long time since he saw him kiss anyone.   
  
He's a little scared that it's going to hurt, because Justin has no reason not to kiss the boy. If he wants something Brian can't give, he should go out and find it for himself. It looks like he's done that.   
  
But then he's pushing the boy away and for a moment the pressure in Brian's chest loosens. He tries not to think about what that means. But Justin speaks. "I don't care," he says succinctly, "He might not love me, but I love him. Goodbye Ethan."   
  
And then he turns, and Brian watches the familiar blankness fall over his face, the one he hadn't even noticed wasn't there.   
  
And suddenly, Brian is angry, without quite knowing why. Angry at Justin, he tells himself, for giving up everything he wants for him, for letting some fucked up notion of love or loyalty get in his way. And he's so angry he rushes after him, not caring if the boy - Ian? - sees him or not.   
  
He grabs Justin's arm, swings him around to face him, and is perversely pleased to see the slight look of pain on his face, because for once it isn't just goddamn blank. For long minutes they stare at each other. And then Justin speaks.   
  
"What?"   
  
  
  
Justin doesn't understand what's happening, why he's standing here facing Brian. He shouldn't be here. This is what the blankness is for, so he won't get in Brian's way, and he won't get hurt. So he comes out with the only thing he can think of.   
  
"What?"   
  
Brian's lips twist into a painful smile and he drops Justin's arm. Justin stares at it for a moment, as though surprised to see it.   
  
"I just thought you might want to explain that little display in there." Brian knows that he's being cruel; he can't seem to help it and he doesn't care, right now he only wants to make Justin feel as fucked up as he does. But the boy just shrugs.   
  
"He thought something could happen. For a little while, so did I. But I was wrong. Can we go now?" Justin finds that if he focuses on the beige wall behind Brian's head instead of the thumping of his heart it's a little like being blank, so he manages to speak calmly.   
  
But he's desperate to get away. Somehow, Brian's managed to shock him out of his tranquil world, and he knows he can't deal with reality, not now with Brian standing there, looking like that. But Brian has other ideas.   
  
"C'mon Sunshine," he says, his lips curling in a sneer. "Why didn't you say yes? He can give you everything you want. The romance, the fidelity," his voice lowers to a purr, "the words."   
  
"I don't know what you mean," Justin tries feebly, but he can't run now, into his head or into the real world, and Brian knows it.   
  
Brian isn't thinking. Isn't rejoicing in having finally got through to Justin. He's too intent on making sure Justin knows that he'll never get what he wants with him. Kid has to understand the rules.   
  
"Sure you do. Flowers, chocolates. Declarations if undying love. That's what you want." Justin's panicking, feels trapped, backed into a corner. It's as if there isn't any air, and he's gasping for breath. How is he supposed to be everything Brian wants when he won't let him?   
  
"Sunshine, stop playing the fool. Just admit it. You want it," he taunts. Justin is shaking his head, backing away, on the edge of a full blown panic attack, but Brian is relentless.   
  
"Tell me. You know you want it. Want some sick hetero fantasy with a husband and three kids." Suddenly everything Justin hasn't let himself feel, hasn't actually registered, comes pouring out and he screams at Brian,   
  
"I don't," and Brian actually stops. "I don't," Justin says again more quietly. "I don't want a husband. I don't want some straight fantasy. But you're right, I would like some romance, some flowers, or a picnic on the floor, I do want the words. But you can't give them to me."   
  
The defeated look on his face would be enough to melt stone, but Brian remains implacable.   
  
"I won't," he replies, face unreadable.   
  
"I know," Justin tells him, and reaches out toward him, his hand stopping just short of Brian's cheek. "I want things you won't give me. But I don't need them Brian, I need you."   
  
And then he walks away, and this time Brian doesn't try to stop him.   
  
  
  
When Justin doesn't turn up at the loft, Brian isn't worried. He figures he's with Daphne, or his Mom, or even the greasy boy from the Institute.   
  
He tries to tell himself he doesn't care, and drinks enough that he almost believes it.   
  
But then a week and a half goes by and Daphne comes knocking at the door, demanding access to her best friend. When she hears he's not there, she gets a worried look in her face, and calls everyone Justin knows.   
  
No one has seen him. Brian pretends to be unconcerned, but he doesn't think he's fooling anyone. His work is for shit, and Vance has ordered him home for a rest. He complies with a sigh of relief; he can now spend more time searching for Justin.   
  
Every time he sees a flash of blond hair his heart leaps, but it's never him. He barely sleeps, he doesn't eat, and the only time he can hold it together is in front of his friends. Then he is merely annoyed with Justin for causing so much trouble. They aren't buying it, and he doesn't blame them. He's a fucking wreck.   
  
A small part of him wonders what he'll do if - when - he finds Justin. Because he still isn't prepared to stop tricking, to spend nights in instead of at the clubs. He still won't say the words.   
  
But whatever happens he has to find him, because he suspects it's the only way to get rid of the dull ache inside his heart.   
  
This, he thinks wryly, is why he tried to never let anyone get close to him. He decides it would have been better for both of them if he'd been successful.   
  
  
  
Justin is beautifully, blissfully, blank. Nothing matters, nothing hurts him. Nothing is working him up. No Ethan. No reminders of what he can't have. And with no routine to keep him even marginally grounded, he can slip even further in, further away from the real world.   
  
Occasionally he misses Brian. He knows that eventually, he'll have to go back to him - after all, without Brian what's the point of all this, the point of his life? He can't live without him. It's that simple.   
  
But this time seems far into the future, and although a part of him aches for his lover, he is in a way relieved, not to have to work so hard to be what Brian wants. The blankness is easier.   
  
"Justin." And then his world of calm is shattered. Hearing his name called, the blankness is gone, and all that's left is pure panic. He wants to run, but his legs are numb; he stumbles as he tries to stand. He looks wildly around for a means of escape, taking in his surroundings for the first time. A park, he had been sitting on the ground, in the distance is a swing set. Has he taken Gus there?   
  
"Justin!"   
  
Someone calls his name again, and he casts around for the bearer of the voice. He doesn't recognize it. He hears footsteps coming towards him, and moves away from them. He's intent on running, although he isn't sure his legs will carry him. Then a small hand clutches his arm, and he can't get away. He turns around, ready to beg to get free. But he's confronted with blond curls framing an unfamiliar face, and he stops, confused.   
  
"Justin?" The woman seems hesitant, but he thinks he knows her from - somewhere. "Justin," she tries again. "Is that you? We've never actually met, but I recognize you from the photo on Brian's desk."   
  
Brian has a photo of Justin on his desk?   
  
"I'm his assistant, Cynthia; we've spoken a couple of times on the phone." The woman's voice is gently reassuring, but Justin doesn't respond, refusing to put himself at any disadvantage. Cynthia reaches out to grasp his hand, gasps when she realizes how cold he is.   
  
"Justin, you're freezing! Come on, I don't live far from here. We'll get you warmed up and let Brian know-"   
  
"NO!" Justin shouts, and then seems surprised at the sound of his own voice. It has been so long since he last heard it. "No," he says again. "Brian can't know." He makes to shake her off, But Cynthia holds on, and in his weakened condition he can't get rid of her.   
  
"It's ok," she says soothingly, "Brian doesn't have to know. But you've been missing for weeks, Justin." He hadn't realized it had been that long. "At least let me give you something to eat."   
  
He is hungry, he acknowledges, and he can feel it now, here in the real world. So he nods and followed her home.   
  
Cynthia is staring at the phone.   
  
The sound of the shower running in the next room is a constant reminder that she can't pick up the phone and call her boss. Because she had promised Justin she wouldn't.   
  
But she still feels guilty, keeping something like this from him. She swears quietly, angry at the whole situation. Damned if she does, and damned if she doesn't.   
  
And then the shower turns off, and the decision is taken out of her hands when Justin appears in the door. He's wrapped up in an old robe which she had left lying on a chair for him. It had belonged to an ex.   
  
He stands in the doorway, unsure of what to do. She motions for him to sit next to her, but he takes the chair across from the sofa she's sitting on. They sit in an awkward silence for a few moments, but Cynthia can't contain her curiosity. Still, she's careful.   
  
"Justin," she asks gently, "what happened? Why are you trying to hurt yourself?" He laughs then, a dry hollow laugh, because all that he was trying to do was not get hurt. That and make Brian happy, because as long as Brian is happy, Justin can stay and sometimes experience those mind numbingly wonderful moments where Brian is with him.   
  
He is at a loss at how to put all this into words, isn't really sure he wants to. It's something private, not to be shared. But even though they'd never met before, Cynthia has been kind to him, and she seems to care about Brian. So he figures he owes her this much.   
  
Opens his mouth, takes a breath, but nothing comes out. Instead, he's embarrassed to find his eyes filling with tears. He dashes them away, angrily, but more soon take their place. He's furious with himself, he thought that he was over this, over being a weak little faggot, over letting himself be hurt. But now the tears are flowing, quietly, but showing no signs of stopping, and he can't help himself.   
  
And then he feels Cynthia's arms wrap hesitantly around him, and he starts full out sobbing, letting his embarrassment and humiliation, and all the hurt he hasn't felt for the past month flow out of him, as he weeps in the arms of a stranger.   
  
  
  
Later Justin is lying asleep in Cynthia's bed, worn out from his emotional episode, and Cynthia is again tempted to call Brian. She knows he must be worried, But she also knows that if she calls, she'll betray the trust she has built up with the teenager lying next door.   
  
Finally she makes up her mind. Going into the bathroom she retrieves one of Justin's gloves, which has his name stitched into the lining, and then she goes to the computer and types out a quick note to Brian, which she prints out and pins to the glove. Putting the whole thing into a large envelope, she slips out of her apartment, and drives for over half an hour from where she lives, and posts it.   
  
Driving quickly back to her apartment she is relieved to find Justin is still asleep. Despite the late hour, she feels no inclination to sleep herself. Moving to the kitchen, she puts on some coffee, and just as it is ready she hears movement from the bedroom.   
  
Pouring two cups she carries them through and hands one to Justin, who takes it gratefully. For a moment, they just sit; sipping at the coffee, but then Justin breaks the silence.   
  
"I - there was someone else," he says quietly. Cynthia is shocked for a minute; Justin has always seemed too devoted to Brian. "Or - there almost was," Justin clarifies. "I met him at school. He's a musician, plays the violin." Cynthia nods encouragingly, but refrains from saying anything, not want the boy to clam up.   
  
"He was so sweet," Justin goes on, "Young, poor, romantic, the perfect starving artist." Cynthia nods again and thinks, 'Everything Brian's not.'   
  
"And so fucking arrogant," Justin says with a laugh. And Cynthia chuckles too, mentally revising her opinion. Not so different after all.   
  
"He did everything Brian wouldn't, told me how special I was, played me love songs, made me picnics on the floor." His voice quiets to a whisper, "told me that he loves me. But one night I realized it doesn't matter what he does. Because I love Brian."   
  
His voice gains strength. "I need Brian, and no imitation, no substitute, can take his place." His voice had risen with the last words, but now he's silent again. Cynthia waits for a minute for him to go on, but when he doesn't speak, puts a hand on his arm.   
  
"But, Justin," she says quietly, "that doesn't explain what happened. Why you ran away." When Justin speaks again, his voice is monotone, as if he's not really there.   
  
"I tried to make sure I could stay with him. He didn't mean to but he kept hurting me, and there was nothing I could do without leaving him. And I could never do that. And I kept pissing him off, getting in his way. I tried to shut down the parts of me that would do that. But I couldn't do it. I kept messing up. I wasn't good enough for him." His voice is cracking; he sounds more human, but so full of pain. "After a while, it was just easier if I was - blank."   
  
Cynthia looks puzzled, and Justin tries to explain. "I could fade away, not feel anything unless I wanted to. I could have the good bits with him, with Brian. And then before I could remember that it wasn't real, that it was all pretend," he is almost in tears again, but kept going, "I'd slip back into the - blank, and I'd be ok. But then Ethan came along, and somehow he kept pulling me out.   
  
"And then Brian saw us, saw Ethan try to kiss me, saw me rejecting him. He was so angry, and I couldn't get away, couldn't hide, and he told me again that he won't love me."   
  
Tears are running down his face again, just a few, leaving silvery snail tracks across his soft skin, but he doesn't seem to notice. "And I know," he goes on brokenly, "that he doesn't love me. But it helped to pretend. And I was trying so hard not to be his boyfriend, because he didn't want that, but he wouldn't let me hide either. And then I couldn't be blank anymore while I was around him, and I had to get away so I could learn to do it again. But now," Justin looks so miserable, so vulnerable that Cynthia wants to take him in her arms, a long suppressed maternal instinct coming to the fore, but she know she has to let him get this out.   
  
"Now," he goes on, "I'm here, and I don't know if I can ever get back again. And I won't be able to be what he wants me to be, because I won't be able to stop hurting, stop pushing, and eventually I won't have him at all."   
  
And then he breaks down again, and Cynthia hold him and feels like killing Brian, because no matter how worried he is, she thinks he deserves it for making anyone feel like this.   
  
  
  
Brian is at work, staring at the object on his desk. He's back in the office, because Vance can't get along without him any longer, and because now that Justin's been missing for so long, for over a month, Brian doesn't jump at every sight of blond hair, or blue eyes.   
  
But then Brian comes home from his first day back, and to find an envelope containing one of Justin's gloves and a typed note. In a way, he's relieved, because Justin seems to be safe. But the note is so sparse; where is he, who's he with, what the fuck is happening?   
  
Still, it's an excuse to drink himself into oblivion instead of searching the streets. That night he goes out, looking for a trick to help him forget. The first guy he fucks is tall, built, with dark hair, dark skin, and dark eyes. But then the twink who blows him in the alley behind Woodies and the two guys he does in the back room bear a startling resemblance to the boy that used to share his bed.   
  
He knocks back three more shots of Beam, and pretends not to notice that all the guys he fucks look far too much like Justin. He goes home alone.   
  
When he gets into work the next morning, he thinks Cynthia gives him a disapproving look, and barely speaks to him for the rest of the day. Brian is confused, but her work is up to standard, and he doesn't feel like dealing with a pissy secretary. When he goes home that night he sees the glove on the counter, where he'd tossed it the night before, and feels angry again, as angry as he was the last time he saw Justin.   
  
He picks it up, is about to throw it away, but stops himself at the last minute. He locks it away in the box at the bottom of the closet, where it keeps company with a framed sketch of a sleeping man, and a blood stained scarf.   
  
Relics of a lost boy.   
  
He looks around at the empty loft. Feels lost, lonely. Throws on some new clothes, grabs a joint, some lube, some condoms. Add drugs, drink, sex, and repeat. He figures that eventually, the ache has to go away.   
  
Cynthia is frustrated. She has no idea what to do. Justin is still staying in her apartment, and he's getting restless. He wanted to go back to Brian, but she couldn't let him, not in this state of mind. All he'd do is go back to punishing himself, cutting himself off from the real world.   
  
Brian is back at work, has been for a week now, and she's so angry with him she can barely speak to him, feeling childishly like spitting in his coffee. Fucking people over is one thing, fucking someone up the way he has Justin is in her mind, unforgivable.   
  
But, she reminds herself, as she drives home, she can't lay it all at his feet. The bashing probably played a part in it, and her heart softens slightly as she remembers how distraught he had been, no matter how he tried not to show it.   
  
She sighs, knowing that something has to be done soon, because both men are set to self destruct. But when she opens the door of the apartment, she notices a piece of paper on the table by the door.   
  
Cynthia.   
  
I can't thank you enough for taking care of me, but right now, I need to be with Brian. I know you think I'm not ready - and maybe I'm not. But I can't live without him. I'll just have to find a way to be what he wants. I hope I'll see you again.  
  
Justin.   
  
The paper drops from between her nerveless fingers, and flutters to the floor. That stupid, stupid boy. Gone and done the last thing he should have - although perhaps the only thing he could have.   
  
For a moment she considers leaving the whole thing alone, washing her hands of such an awkward situation. The door slams shut on her empty apartment.   
  
  
  
Brian's getting ready to leave work, contemplating the night ahead. For once the thought of drinking and fucking the night away doesn't enthuse him. Rather, the idea makes him feel tired, the reason he has stayed in the office so late. Even Cynthia left over an hour ago.   
  
He's almost finished for the night when he hears a knock. He calls out for them to come in with his back to the door, gathering papers together. He bends over to pick up a folder on the other side as the door opens.   
  
"Nice view." The voice is soft, so quiet he can barely hear it, but he freezes at the sound. A low chuckle follows the speaker’s words, and he realizes how strange he must look. Slowly, he straightens, and turns. Standing in front of him is Justin, just as though he had never left. Brian just stares at him.   
  
"Can I come in?" Justin asks nervously, and that's when Brian notices that there is something different about him. His expression is guarded, but not a smooth, blank stare. Justin is there behind his eyes.   
  
Brian lets out a small sigh of relief, sits down on his desk because he isn't sure his legs will hold him. He hopes it looks casual, unintentional.   
  
"So," Justin says after a moment, "you ready to go home?"   
  
"Are you?" Brian asks him, and there is so much implied in those two words, so much that Brian wants to say, ask, but can't.   
  
"Yes," Justin tells him, and Brian lets out a breath he wasn't aware of holding. He wants to run to Justin and hold him, touch him, kiss him, to make sure he's really there, but something holds him back, waiting for Justin to make the first move. The silence stretches out between them, a huge gulf far larger than the few meters of floor which separate them.   
  
BANG.  
  
The door is flung open, and Justin flinches, Brian only just preventing himself from doing so. Cynthia is standing in the doorway, her arms crossed, one eyebrow delicately raised. Brian is shocked for the second time that evening, but Justin clearly isn't; a guilty look appears on his face, and he tries to back quietly away.   
  
"Stop. Right. There." Cynthia's voice snaps out, shattering the silence into a million pieces. Justin stops, but squares his shoulders and faces her.   
  
"Look," he tries, "I appreciate everything you've done for me-"   
  
"What?" Brian interjects, but the other two ignore him.   
  
"-but right now I need to be with him." He looks at her pleadingly, and Cynthia doesn't disappoint.   
  
"I know," she tells him, "and I won't try to stop you."   
  
"Stop him!"   
  
"But I need to talk to Brian first," Cynthia finishes. Justin looks panicked again.   
  
"No," he shouts, "You can't - he can't know -" he's breathing in short gasps, and Brian finally moves towards him, but Cynthia gets there first.   
  
"Justin, I need you to look at me. That's it, look into my eyes. Now breathe with me. In - hold it - and out. And in. And out." Justin's breathing returns to normal, but he still looks scared.   
  
"Please," he says, "you can't tell him."   
  
"Justin," Cynthia tells him firmly, "I won't tell him anything he doesn't need to know. But I can't let you go back to him without doing this.   
  
"You can't stop me," Justin points out, but his voice is shaky.   
  
"Actually, with the kind of behavior you've been displaying, I could have you admitted to hospital.   
  
"Hospital!" Brian roars, shocked. He's trying to stay calm, waiting for them to finish so he can figure out what is going on. But this is too much. He can't lose Justin again, not when he's only just found him.   
  
"Just go and wait downstairs," Cynthia tells the teenager. "I promise it will be ok." Justin looks miserable, but slowly leaves the room. He isn't sure Cynthia is telling the truth about the hospital, but he doesn't want to take any chances.   
  
"I know you're angry," he tells her quietly as he reaches the door, "but don't be. He didn't do anything wrong. Then he walks out, shutting the door gently as he leaves.   
  
"He's been with you." Brian's voice is quiet now, but his tone is deadly. Cynthia doesn't back down.   
  
"Yes."   
  
"He's been with you, all this time, when you knew that I-" He cuts himself off, unwilling to say anymore, say anything that will alert her to the emotions broiling inside him.   
  
"When I know that you what?" Cynthia's voice is cold, unyielding. "When I knew that you missed him? That you haven't been sleeping, have been walking the streets at night after you've fucked yourself into oblivion? When I know that you love him?"   
  
"I don't love that little twat. I don't do love," Brian grinds out, only just controlling himself. He takes a few deep breaths, and calms himself. "His Mommy was worried," he tells Cynthia with a sneer, but she isn't impressed.   
  
"And that's exactly the problem, isn't it?" she says, her voice rising as she speaks. "Because you've got too much goddamn pride to tell him that you care. Do you know what he was like when I found him? He was a fucking mess." She's yelling now, and Brian flinches at her words, but continues to look her in the eye, refusing to back down.   
  
"Why should I have to change because some kid has latched onto me," he shouts in reply.

 

"Because you already have!” she yells back at him. "He's the one in your bed, and he may not be the only one, but he is the only one in your home and in your heart." She's panting a little now, out of breath, but she doesn't stop.   
  
"That boy out there is in love with you," and this time Brian looks away. "He loves you despite everything, and he's so fucked up in the head because some kid with a baseball bat, that he's trying to be everything you want. He's losing himself because of you and your stupid mind games. When I found him he was just sitting there on the ground in the freezing cold, wearing next to nothing and half starved. Because he thinks that in order to be with you he has to be someone else."   
  
Cynthia finishes; she has said what she came to say. Brian stares at her for a minute, his face slack with shock. Then he straightens, and his expression closes off, his emotions locked behind the walls in his mind. He picks up his briefcase and walks out of the door.   
  
"I'll see you at work tomorrow," he says as he leaves.   
  
  
  
Brian inserts the key into the lock, keys in the alarm code, and pulls open the door. Justin follows him inside hesitantly. He's reminded of his first night at the loft, and he smiles faintly at the memory.   
  
Remembers how lost and scared he had felt, how much he had wanted this man in front of him. How Brian had teased him, played with him, but in the end had fucked him, so carefully, and yet so hard, Justin had been sure that they had been making love.   
  
His smile fades as he remembers the next day, when Brian had told him that he could see him in his dreams. But Brian had seen him again, had let him into his life, and he was determined not to fuck it up again.   
  
Brian throws his suit jacket down on a chair, pours himself a glass of Jim Beam. Justin picks up the jacket, hangs it up, knows Brian will bitch if it creases. He comes back into the main room.   
  
Sits, stands, and sits again. Twists his hands in his lap.   
  
He watches Brian for a minute, staring at his form highlighted against the window. Denied of the sight for so long, he drinks the image in. He spies a sketchbook on the counter and grabs it and a pencil, begins to draw.   
  
For a moment, he wonders what it was doing there, he is sure he carefully packed everything away on the day he left, but he dismisses the thought, and concentrates in transferring Brian's image from his mind to paper.   
  
Brian turns his empty glass still in his hand. He stares down at the drawing boy, and chuckles, low and grim. It's as if he never left.   
  
And Brian wants to leave it there. Go back to blessed ignorance, complacence. But he knows he can't stand any more time without Justin, whether or not he is there in body. So he pours himself another drink. Walks almost cautiously towards the boy curled up on the sofa. He halts and clears his throat, unsure of how to start. Justin looks up at him expectantly. "  
  
I'm not going to stop tricking," he says abruptly, and winces inwardly at the bluntness of his words.   
  
"I know," Justin tells him, looking confused. Brian forges ahead, already sure that what he's about to say is the wrong thing, but unable to stop.   
  
"We're not dykes. We're not dickless fags from some Showtime TV show. We're never going to get married." He stops, and takes a deep breath, preparing to say the one thing that will cost him the most.   
  
Then Justin slams his sketch book and pencil down, and practically runs into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.   
  
Brian stares after him for a moment, then sinks down onto the sofa. He has never felt so out of his depth in all his life as he has in the past year - ever since Justin was bashed by some stupid kid with a hard on, and a grudge.   
  
He picks up the sketch book beside him and leafs through it. He knows all the pictures inside by heart, has studied them all so many times in the month since Justin disappeared. He stops on the last page, sees another rendition of himself, perhaps the 20th in the book.   
  
The sketch has barely taken shape, but Brian easily recognizes himself in the sparse lines. He looks hard at the picture, trying to see himself as Justin does. The figure is drawn in long bold strokes. It is the focus of the scene; it seems to jump out of the page.   
  
Larger than life.   
  
A hero.   
  
Something Brian is not.   
  
Justin can feel the tears pouring down his face. He swipes at them with his hands, but it makes little difference. How dare he? Justin has done everything, everything, to make him happy, and Brian just spits it back in his face.   
  
Justin is angry now, and that scares him, because he can't remember the last time he was angry. But there is hurt mixed in with the anger, and Justin is wary of letting anyone, even Brian, especially Brian close to him when he is this vulnerable. So he washes his face, takes a deep breath.   
  
"I can do this," he thinks, and pushes the door open, steps out of the bedroom to find Brian on the sofa. Pads up behind him in stocking feet - his shoes are on the floor by the sofa where he kicked them earlier - and peers over Brian's shoulder.   
  
The man's finger is tracing over the sketch Justin had just started, and Justin is angry again, angry enough to rip the book out of his hands.   
  
Brian looks up, surprised, and then the confusion turns to fear as Justin dissolves into tears again.   
  
Justin doesn't know what to do, why he is suddenly so angry and so hurt, when for so long there has been only apathy. He knows that what he is doing is unacceptable, by Brian's standards and by his own. Falling apart on his own or in a darkened room with only a stranger to see is one thing, but like this, with a man who can tear open his soul with just a few short words, is something else.   
  
He finds he doesn't care. He cries, desperately, great wrenching sobs that come from deep within him. He slips to the floor, buries his head in his hands, and cries as a child does, with no shame or remorse in doing so, no thoughts of being too weak, of not being good enough. He cries hoping desperately that it will help him fill up the huge gaping hole inside of him, because he doesn't know what else will.   
  
Then he feels strong arms encircle him, and he's reminded again of the danger of his position, letting someone this close to what's really inside of him. He tries to back away, but Brian holds on, determined not to let him go, to for once in his goddamned life do the right fucking thing.   
  
"Why, Sunshine?" he asks quietly. "Why did you let this happen? Let yourself get so lost?" And then Justin remembers the anger.   
  
"Fuck you," he says, and struggles to get away but can't. "Fuck you," he says again, still inside the safety of Brian's arms. "You have no fucking clue what it's like, do you? Wanting someone, loving them so much, and not having them love you? Trying your best to hang on to your last scrap of sanity when nothing in the world makes sense. You don't know what it's like when the one thing that hurts you the most is the one thing that can make you whole again."   
  
He continues to sob, and Brian's heart sinks. He was afraid of this, afraid that their relationship - fuck it, it was a fucking relationship - was beyond repair.   
  
"I'm sorry Sunshine," he mumbles into the blond hair. "I can't change; I can't be who you want me to be. The clubs, the tricks, the job, they're who I am." Justin looks up at him, tear streaked face astonished.   
  
"I don't want to change you," he shouts. "I don't care about the fucking tricks, or the long hours, or going out every night. I just want you to fucking care about me!"   
  
And then the anger takes over from the grief, and he slams his lips against Brian's, harshly, punishing him. Brian moans and relinquishes control, a little voice in the back of his mind telling him that this is probably the last time before Justin moves on to someone who deserves him - and leaves Brian behind him in the dust.   
  
Justin leaves Brian's mouth, and moves down to his neck, sucking hard on his pulse points. He leans forward, pushing Brian back until the older man is lying on the floor with Justin stretched out on top of him. He's desperate for the feel, the taste of Brian, and rips open his shirt in his quest for more skin, more flesh to touch and feel. He moves down Brian's chest, littering it liberally with bite marks.   
  
He bites harshly on one nipple, and Brian cries out, and then soothes it with his tongue while his hand pinches at the other. He licks a path down to the man’s belly button and begins fucking the tiny hole with his tongue, while his hands fumble with Brian's zipper.   
  
Finally he gets it undone, shoves down the man's pants, and swallows his cock in one quick motion. Brian yells, and tries to arch up underneath him, but Justin's hands are pressed firmly on his hips holding him down. Brian curses, knows that there will probably be fingerprints on his skin in the morning, but is too turned on to care. It's been over a month since he fucked Justin, and somehow this kid is better than anyone he's ever had.   
  
Justin spends only a moment on his cock, before abandoning it in favor of his balls. Carefully, he sucks first one, then the other into his mouth, relishing the flavor. Then he moves back up Brian's body, silencing his moan of disappointment with a kiss. He presents Brian with his fingers.   
  
"Suck them," he orders, his voice low and husky. Brian looks at him for a long minute, studying his face, then carefully takes two of Justin's fingers into his mouth, and sucks on them, never taking his eyes of Justin's face. Justin groans, and then pulls them out.   
  
Reaches down and slips first one, then two inside of Brian. Starts slowly moving them in and out, keeping the pace gentle. For a long time, this is all he does, barely moving except for his fingers sliding in and out of Brian, occasionally brushing his prostate. He keeps going until Brian is writhing beneath him, begging him to fuck him, a place Justin never took him before because he was always too afraid. Somehow nothing scares him anymore. Then he pulls out, and finally takes off his own clothes. Fumbles in Brian's discarded trousers for a condom, and hands it to Brian.   
  
"Put it on me."   
  
And Brian looks at him with such trust, such caring in his eyes, that Justin suddenly realizes something. He had been right all along. Brian loved him. Brian had showed him in so many ways, how he felt about him, and somewhere along the way Justin had forgotten how to read him.   
  
Justin, the one who was supposed to always be there for him, to see beyond his bullshit, had failed him. Had let himself get lost in his own head, because he couldn't deal with being a grownup.   
  
All of this flashes through his mind in the space of seconds, and by the time the realization in through, Brian's hand is smoothing the condom onto Justin's dick. Justin leans forward and kisses him, gently and slowly, all former roughness gone.   
  
"Are you sure?" he asks quietly, and the sound echoes in his head, reminding him how Brian had asked him the same thing, had been so hesitant and unsure, that first time after the bashing.   
  
"Yes," Brian hisses back at him. "Fuck me."   
  
So Justin carefully pushes his cock inside his lover, gasping at the sudden heat. He's glad he's worked Brian up so much already, because he doesn't think he's going to last.   
  
Brian's long legs are thrown over his shoulders, and are too heavy for his slim build, but he doesn't care, doesn't notice, just starts to thrust slowly within him. And Brian whimpers, goddamn whimpers, and thrusts back, and Justin thinks that he has never loved him as much as he does now.   
  
His thrusts become erratic, and he reaches down to touch Brian's cock, but Brian knocks his hand away and comes, untouched, soon afterwards. Justin thrusts once, twice, and then empties himself into Brian, collapsing onto him as he does so. For a moment they lie there together, and then Justin pulls out, throws away the used condom.   
  
He turns to look at Brian, his face open and questioning, as though expecting a rejection. Brian stands, a little unsteadily, takes his hand, and leads him to the bed.   
  
They curl up round one another, and Brian whispers into Justin's ear, "be here, be in our bed tomorrow. Please." And Justin understands that Brian couldn't have said that before, maybe won't be able to again. Understands that tonight they were both able to open themselves up in ways they normally couldn't. He understands, and nods his head, then burrows further into Brian's body.   
  
For the first time in months, they both sleep easily.   
  
  
  
Brian wakes to the feel of a warm body against his, and breathes a sigh of relief. The last time he expected Justin to be there, he hadn't been, so this time Brian hasn't allowed himself to expect.   
  
But, he reminds himself, yesterday was the last time. Justin seems to have snapped out of whatever was going on in his head, and he knows that he'll never get what he wants from Brian.   
  
And Brian wants to be ok with that. There are no locks on their doors, they are both free to leave anytime they want, which is how Brian wanted it. If Justin isn't happy, Brian sure as hell doesn't want to hold him back.   
  
But the last month has been torture for Brian, and he isn't sure he can go through that again. It would be different this time, he rationalizes, this time he would know where Justin was, and that he was safe. But he knows that it wouldn't be enough. Finally he comes to a decision.   
  
  
  
The Jeep pulls up outside of Lindsay and Melanie's house. It's the weekend, and still early, so the neighborhood is quiet, all the parents still in bed, the kids happily ensconced in front of the TV. Brian shudders at the idea of such a life, at the overwhelming amount of domesticity involved.   
  
Justin looks at him quizzically. The older man has barely said a word all morning. They had showered together, and Justin had relished the feel of Brian washing his hair, soaping his back, but it hadn't gone any further, and Justin doesn't know why. Is a little scared that his show of dominance the night before has angered Brian, but doesn't want to care.   
  
The blankness that used to be his friend is now his enemy; he realizes he doesn't like himself when he's like that. Has no respect for himself. He doubts Brian has either.   
  
The two sit staring at the house for a few minutes, Brian lost in his own thoughts, Justin to cautious to speak. Finally, Brian opens the door of the car and slides out. He pushes the door shut, and looks at Justin. "  
  
You coming, Sunshine?" Justin takes a deep breath, and gets out of the car. It takes a little while to get into the house, having to deal with Lindsay exclaiming over his re-appearance, and Melanie snarking at Brian for coming around so early.   
  
Justin likes Melanie, but thinks that sometimes she's a little too full on. Of course, Brian gives as good as he gets. Today though, he ignores her.   
  
"I've come to see my son," is all he'll say, one arm wrapped possessively round Justin's waist, as if to stop him from running. Justin has no intention of going anywhere. Somewhere along the way, he lost the ability to read Brian, but now it seems like he has it back. Whatever he's doing now, there has to be a reason. There always is.   
  
Finally, the two of them are left alone in Gus's room, watching the sleeping toddler. Brian finally releases Justin, and steps forward, watching the small form with an expression of awe on his face.   
  
"The two of you came into my life on the same night," he says quietly, not looking at Justin, "and that means something. You are the only person I have ever slept with that I would trust with my son. He comes first in my life - and then there's you."   
  
He turns to look at Justin, and there's no hope in his eyes, only resignation. "I can't give up the tricks. I can't be a stay at home husband. I'm not even sure I can give you the words. But I - I care about you." He chokes slightly over the last words, but he gets them out, and then looks at Justin defiantly, as though expecting him to deny their validity. When he doesn't he carries on.   
  
"If you can't deal with who I am, then by all means leave. Find yourself some dreamy eyed kid who wants those things too. But I'd miss you if you left." He hesitates, and then adds quickly, "so don't go."   
  
Justin stares at him for a moment, unable to believe what he's hearing. Brian takes his silence for a confirmation of what he feared, and turns away, concentration on his son rather than on this situation. He can't fall apart here, not in front of him. Then Justin move towards him, wraps his arms around him, and Brian leans back into his touch. It's all going to be ok.   
  
The two of them come downstairs and Melanie tells them that they might as well stay, the others will be here for brunch in half an hour - and it just might give them a heart attack to find Brian Kinney there early, and they'd have to stay just so she could see the looks on their faces.   
  
For a moment she and Brian grin at each other, then remember themselves and turn away. Justin smiles to himself. Melanie and Brian are too much alike for their own good, even if they'd never admit it.   
  
The two of them suffer through brunch; where Debbie almost strangles Justin, and then force feeds him so much that even he is quickly full. Emmett starts crying, and Ted just passes him a handkerchief, and tells Justin that it's good to have him back - it might tone his Royal Badness down a little. Justin turns to Brian, who just raises an eyebrow, tongue planted firmly in cheek.   
  
Justin's a little worried about Michael, but upon seeing him, the man immediately launches in to his new ideas for Rage, as if nothing has happened. Justin looks around at them, his little family, and is content.   
  
  
  
It's the night of the Rage party, and Justin feels a little sore, a little vulnerable, having watched his own tragedy been played out on stage. Someone tells him that Brian is looking for him, and he pushes his way up onto the catwalk, looking around for the familiar figure. Then a hand drops over his eyes, and a low voice breathes in his ear,   
  
"Guess who."   
  
Justin giggles and turns around, reaching up to kiss his lover. His lover. He can say it now without impunity, without being scared it will all be taken away. Brian loves him, and shows it too him every day in his own special way. And when it's Brian doing the showing, Justin is glad to take everything he has to give. After all, how many teenagers have an older male lover that can keep up with them in bed?   
  
By the time they break the kiss, Justin is feeling a little light headed, and he leans into Brian, breathing in the smell of him.   
  
"How you holding up, Sunshine?" His tone is casual, but Justin detects an underlying note of worry in Brian's voice.   
  
"I'm fine," he tells him, and it's true. Because it's ok to be a little vulnerable with Brian, because Brian will protect him from anything. Just like Justin will protect Brian.   
  
Their relationship - and Justin is still amazed that Brian actually refers to what they have as a relationship - is far from perfect. Neither of them is monogamous, and for the most part that's ok, but once in a while it causes a fight, the jealousy coming from either side. And they fight about small things, like seeing Justin's mother for Sunday lunch, and do they have to watch porn again - wouldn't A Yellow Submarine be nicer?   
  
But in some ways Brian is glad when they fight because it proves to him that Justin is really there, and can stand up for himself. And in some ways, Justin likes it, because it shows him that Brian cares. The make-up sex is always hot, and by the end, they normally forget what they were fighting about.   
  
Justin calls Brian on his bullshit, and Brian doesn't let Justin queen out - too often, and though Justin knows they'll probably never get married, he's ok with that. Because he has Brian.   
  
Up on the catwalk, the two of them are completely lost in one another. Justin leans in for another kiss, and this one lasts a long time, their lips touching gently as they sway to the music.   
  
Down below, pair of chocolate eyes stares up at them. Ethan came here tonight to try one last time. He knows that Brian isn't good enough for Justin, is sure that he is. After all, he loves him.   
  
But watching the two figures dancing closely together, Ethan knows that there's nothing he can do. He looks for a long moment, wondering what might have been. At least, he thinks, he's still got his music. Ethan turns and leaves, alone. 


End file.
